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    How often she has gazed from castle windows o'er,
    And watched the daylight passing within her captive wall,
    With no-one to heed her call.

    The evening hour is fading within the dwindling sun,
    And in a lonely moment those embers will be gone
    And the last of all the young birds flown.

    Her days of precious freedom, forfeited long before,
    To live such fruitless years behind a guarded door,
    But those days will last no more.

    Tomorrow at this hour she will be far away,
    Much farther than these islands,
    Or the lonely fotheringay

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